All I Never Wanted
by winteredspark
Summary: /"You will be a great Queen, the best England has ever seen." Her heart sinks even further. "Vous gagnerez. You will win." But the thing is, she won't./ Or, a heart-breaking conversation between George and Anne discussing His Majesty and the crown.


_**A**ll **I** **N**ever **W**anted_

**a/n: **I've been watching the Tudors Season 1 and I have to admit, my heart jumps out to Anne. While history paints her as this dark, manipulative, cruel character, I believe that there is always more beneath the surface. So far, this series has done a good job of bringing out the other side of Anne's character. This idea jumped into my head after watching the scene between Anne and George in her bed-chambers. I have read books on their relationship and it fascinates me.

_:_

"Is my lady feeling troubled again?"

"You are not my husband, Sir," Anne responds with the ghost of a smile, straightening her back automatically and gazing numbly out over the contents of her bed-chamber. The two ladies His Majesty has assigned to her keeping have long been banished to the main corridors so that she can find some semblance of peace. Of course, dismissing them leaves the room in some sort of disarray. New sheets were placed on the bed yesterday morning and Anne had unceremoniously dumped the soiled sheets on the floor to the right. Goblets sit beside an empty bowl filled with water and rose petals to disguise the scent of wine. Her father and uncle had not been pleased to find that she'd been drowning herself in the pleasures of wine. Dishes lie shattered on the floor and she purses her lips as the cut on the bottom of her right foot throbs.

"What is wrong, sister?" George asks, taking a cautious step into the room.

Anne takes a moment to admire the cream lace adorning his velvet tunic. "I did not want any visitors," she says at last, ice blue eyes flitting up to search his face. He does not look angry as the rest of them do, simply concerned for her well-being.

"Father says that for the past two days you have been raging about your rooms, throwing priceless artifacts and screaming," George answers, taking another step until he is beside her bed, fingers parting the side curtains she'd tried to rip apart.

Anne resists the urge to roll her eyes as she mutters, "Father overreacts, as usual."

"He cares about you," George responds softly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She jerks away, more a subconscious reaction than anything, color flooding her cheeks. Anger gleams in her blue eyes, tempered by education and reason.

"Our father does not care about my well-being," Anne hisses, slumping into the pillows. A little, shuddering gasp escapes past her pale lips as the strings of her corset tug and keep her from breathing fully. "Father has been speaking with Uncle about the fortunes they will be granted once their plans for me culminate. Already the king, bless His Majesty, speaks of elevating Father to a position on the Royal Council."

"His Majesty is gracious," George says cautiously, noting the emotions boiling on his sister's fair face. "Yet surely, sister, Father and Uncle wish for your happiness. Uncle already has the title Duke of Norfolk, and Father is well respected. They have no need of much more to make them content."

Anne barks a laugh. "Man is never content with what power the Lord has granted him," she murmers, signing the cross. "It is as Sir Thomas More says: Power makes fools of all."

"You would listen to More?" George asks a bit incredulously. "Is he not known for his controversial beliefs?"

"Sir Thomas is a great Catholic believer," Anne spits, slipping out between the covers and rising to her full height, skirts falling to wispy perfection about her slim form, "as well as one of His Majesty's trusted servants. Of course I would listen to him."

"You would believe anything, sister," George says, reaching out again. This time, Anne allows his hand to rest against her right shoulder.

"Do _not_ play me for a fool," Anne whispers, voice cold and harsh. "One day you will all see how much potential the Lord has gifted me with. I will have Father and Uncle banished from court once His Majesty is fully mine."

George's eyes widen as she shakes his hand away once more. "Sister, do not speak so," he breathes. "Father and Uncle care for you."

Anne sighs, some anger seeping from her. "I know that they care," she allows, "but not enough to let me make my own decisions."

"Would you not have made the same decision?" George asks.

Anne's face tightens and she swallows past a lump in her throat, knowing that her answer is nothing her brother would like to hear. A sound at the door draws her attention to it.

"Lucianne?" Anne calls out.

The door creaks open too fast and a woman with light brown hair pulled into a braided bun appears. She curtsies, flaring out the hem of her emerald green gown. "Yes, Lady Anne?" Lucianne wonders, keeping her head tilted towards the ground in a show of respect.

"You were listening to our conversation," Anne says, keeping her voice neutral.

Lucianne's face pales, but she says nothing.

"Answer me," Anne demands, allowing a dash of chilliness to enter her voice. "Were you not listening in to our conversation from outside the door?"

Lucianne's features lose even more color. "Yes, Lady Anne. Forgive me." Her voice drops, trembling, fingers planted quivering against the folds in her skirts.

Looking down at the woman, Anne feels disgust curl up in her throat. The effect she has on people is absolutely monstrous and yet no one else sees it but herself. _George has to understand, _she thinks grimly, summoning all her compassion to hide in the darkest corner of her heart.

"Do you have a family?" Anne asks the woman.

Lucianne's lips quiver uncontrollably and she swallows back something like pain. "A husband and a daughter, Madam," she answers at long last, trying to keep the tears from spilling over the bottoms of her eyes. "Please, Lady Anne, do not summon His Majesty. Do not bring punishment upon my innocent family. I am sorry for listening in to your private conversation. Your humble and worthless servant begs for your forgiveness."

"Anne -" George begins to her left.

Eyeing the glittering sapphire ring on the third finger of her left hand, Anne tries to bottle away her emotions. Admittedly, there is a rush of longing that comes with this position of power, but it isn't enough to satisfy her. _I do not want to be the reason for people's terror_, she thinks, biting her lower lip and relishing in the pain it brings. _I want to have their respect_. This - the horror in people's faces as they prepare to lose everything - is something that His Majesty and others might thrive in, but that is not the case for herself. It is simply inhumane.

"Go now," she tells the sobbing young woman. "You have my forgiveness."

Lucianne kisses the ground by Anne's feet, tears dripping down her cheeks. "Thank you, Your Greatness," she whispers. "Thank you."

"I am only Lady Anne," she responds to the girl on the ground, feeling her heart twist.

The door closes softly behind her lady-in-waiting and for a moment the only sound is the flickering of candles casting light into the shadows of the darkened room. Then George begins to sputter incoherently. The look he gives her sends terror shooting through her, almost thrilling.

"Do not look at me so, brother," Anne murmers. "They are all the same, no matter what I say."

George says nothing, only continuing to eye her with disbelief. "She could bring news of your conversation to the King," he says after a pause.

"She will not," Anne answers assuredly, her voice still very pained. "They all spy on me, but do not dare to reveal anything other than positive news to Sir Brandon or His Excellence, Cardinal Wolsey. His Majesty trusts me above all others and would simply have them hanged for attempting to blackmail the future Queen of England."

"You are so sure you will be Queen?" George wonders.

"My own thoughts do not matter," she says, the numbness stealing over her once more. "Father and Uncle tell me what to do and I follow, unless I wish for them to disown me. The moment I speak up they tell me that I am only a silly girl with no mind about the world's politics. But yes, they say I will be Queen." Her skirts sink towards the floor and she sits down slowly - carefully - with tears building in her beautiful, crystalline eyes. She sniffs and one tear rolls down her cheek. "He still writes to me, you know. Father steals the letters before I have a chance to read them." Her voice drifts off sadly.

"They say that His Majesty loves you," George says. He sounds too stunned by her behavior to say anything else. She wishes he would sit down beside her and hold her as he used to.

"He does," Anne replies, an unconscious smile tracing her plump lips.

George looks at her for a long moment; then, understanding lights his face.

"You love him," he breathes, reaching out to touch her cheek. She leans into the touch. "That is why you are so upset about all of this."

"Does it matter if I do or not?" Anne asks him, knotting her fingers together and wincing as her ring cuts into the flesh of her palm. "Brother, the plan is already set in motion. I will be forced to play His Majesty until I have become his Queen and there is nothing I can do otherwise."

"Don't you want to be Queen?" George asks.

"Power makes fools of all," Anne whispers to herself, looking out of the elaborate window to the right and tracing the shapes of the castle walls in the darkness. She tries to imagine sitting beside the King, drinking wine from the cup his first queen used, kissing him, pretending as though the only reason she is his Queen is because of her love for him. It will not work. There will be moments, she knows it now, when she will slip and cost England prices they do not deserve to pay. This is beyond love or devotion. Anne takes a deep breath and wishes that she could have simply stumbled into His Majesty's arms, not taken the time to pry him away from Queen Katherine of Aragon.

"You can trust me, you know," George says, kneeling beside her for a moment.

Leaning forward and locking her eyes on his, Anne kisses her brother tenderly. Their lips mold together for a moment, then part, and she presses her mouth to his cheek in a fond farewell gesture. _I don't want any of this_, her sad eyes speak as she moves away.

"I wish I could," she says, squeezing her brother's hand. "You need to go."

"But Anne -" George begins again, straightening and giving her a shocked look.

"Get out," she responds coldly, transforming into the regent she will soon be forced to play every second of every day.

George rises, giving her a last pleading look which she ignores. Then he exits, slamming the door behind him. Anne lets several more tears roll down her cheeks, imagines lying with Henry in his bed for the first time, imagines the love in his eyes she betrays every day. Then she brushes the wet invaders away from her skin, forcing a fake smile onto her lips.

"It does not matter what you want," Anne tells herself firmly, wishing that her limbs weren't trembling quite so much. "You will be a great Queen, the best England has ever seen." Her heart sinks even further. "_Vous gagnerez_. You will win."

But the thing is, she won't.


End file.
